


wasting away with you

by miraclemoon



Series: first times a charm [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Grinding, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Pet Names, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraclemoon/pseuds/miraclemoon
Summary: Bucky exudes sex and temptation, the top three buttons of his shirt undone and revealing miles of tanned skin underneath.Steve wishes he wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t make it so damn easy for him to indulge in the intoxicating sight before him, wouldn't make his pulse stutter or his cheeks go pink before he can manage to look away and pretend like he wasn't staring.Fuck, may the Lord strike him down where he stands, because he's not sure he can survive another moment of this...





	

**Author's Note:**

> My excuse for writing Steve's first hand/blowjob hehe. Enjoy!

Steve is teetering against a tightrope, desperate to find his balance.

He’s in the kitchen washing dishes, fingernails digging into the remnants of porridge that have dried against the ridge of their bowls. Bucky stands beside him, whistling a catchy tune while he wipes the porcelain dry and sets them into the cupboards.

The only sound in Steve’s pathetic little apartment is his roaring heart, raging so hard and fast it’s practically drowning out the sounds of civilian life in the street level below them. It’s excruciating, any second from now his heart’s going to beat out of his damn chest and finally send this wretched building tumbling. It’s only a matter of time.

When Steve reaches the last dish, Bucky practically takes the bowl out from his hands once he’s spent the third consecutive minute scrubbing at nothing. Steve doesn’t even fight to keep it with him, his sole purpose for having it is to satisfy the nervous tick that’s starting to cycle him into an endless loop. It’s good Bucky took it away though, he’s wasting water.

Steve stares into the empty sink now, wiping his wet hands against his slacks.

It’s been weeks since their first kiss.

Steve’s been dancing around the topic since then, afraid of letting Bucky any closer than arm’s reach. Even in public, he can’t have Bucky’s arm slung over his shoulders anymore, can’t handle standing underneath his sunshine for fear of blowing their cover. He’s always been shit at keeping secrets, and the last thing either of them needs is Steve getting all soft eyed the moment Bucky looks his way. Now that he understands the heat behind the brunet's gaze, he has to be more cautious.

He’s gotta be better than this, if he doesn’t want them both at the bottom of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Hell, just standing here together feels like a damn sin, like the floorboards are about to splinter apart and finally send them down into the bloody pits of hell, consumed in the fire and flames of a sinner's sanctuary. The neighbors practically know Bucky as Sarah’s second son, and yet here Steve is, corrupting their relationship with feelings that never had any business seeing the light of day.

He’s not sure if visiting the confessional is even an option at this point. He doesn’t exactly know any liberal-minded priests that won’t damn him to hell the very moment he utters a breath on the matter, and there's no one he trusts to share this secret with, least of all his own mother. So he holds his breath against the secrecy, hoping the guilt won't poison him. Bucky hasn’t stopped whistling beside him, not a care in the world as he saunters over and bumps at Steve’s bony hip, knocking him out of his thoughts. There’s a coy smile on his face, and Steve’s brow twitches, irritated.

A lock of hair curls lazily against Bucky’s forehead, rolled up sleeves sitting perfectly against each bicep. The scent of the sea sits thick on Bucky’s skin, hours at the docks lingering on him like a second film of skin, and it’s repulsive, disgusting.

Steve can’t help but salivate.

The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, and Steve wishes he wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t make it so damn easy for him to indulge in the intoxicating sight before him. Bucky exudes sex and temptation, and Steve’s pulse is starting to hammer, cheeks going a little pink before he can manage to look away and pretend like he wasn’t staring.

His teeth dig into the gummy underside of his cheek, copper spilling into his mouth.

Steve hates how much he wants to lean in and just breathe him in.

Fuck, may the Lord strike him down where he stands...he takes another step away from Bucky, forcing his gaze away  to fixate on the cupboard above him. His eyes trail against the old wood, the fissures that lace the left door. Bucky, the trooper, simply accepts the distance that Steve’s begun to put between them. Simply shrugs his shoulders when Steve takes an extra step away and gets back to whistling his favorite tune, a beat in his step as he stretches over to set the last plate into its appropriate spot.

His cooperation only further infuriates Steve.

“What’s your problem?” the blond blurts suddenly, without thinking. _(Not exactly how he was hoping to start this conversation...)_

Bucky simply quips an eyebrow, unbothered. His whistling has stopped and he snakes a hand into the pocket of his slacks - eyes illuminated with amusement. He leans his weight against the edge of the counter, all casual like as he centralizes his focus on Steve.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Rogers?”

_God_ , Steve hates how good his voice sounds. Pure velvet.

Fires begin raging through his veins, burning so hot and bright it’s practically blinding. His fingers curl into fists, heartbeat starting to race. Why is he like this? Why did these feelings have to start?

_Why couldn’t he have just been born normal?_

“Why won’t you kiss me?” Steve asks instead, the words practically punched out of him, “I mean -- why haven’t you at least _tried?_ ”

He doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s asking, the words were out and thriving in the open before he could stop them, before he could swallow them down and let them die in his throat. Heat trails up the length of his spine from sheer embarrassment, because _Jesus Christ and the twelve disciples_ when was he so incapable of functioning as a basic human being!?

Bucky all but smirks at the question, lips curled devilishly in the corners. The smug fucker’s amused. He shifts his leg to the other foot, hip cocked to the side. 

“Do you want me to?”

Steve swallows hard, hands curled into tight fists.

“M’ just sayin’.”

“And _I’m_ just askin’.”

Bucky takes a lazy step closer, his movements fluid like running water.

“You want me to kiss you, doll?”

Steve's skin all but bursts into flames, and his brows furrow, anger slowly coiling in his gut. He huffs.

“I’m not no dame, Barnes.”

“Never said you were,” Bucky says, sweet as ever, “If you don’t want me usin’ nicknames, you’ll never hear ‘em again. You just gotta tell me what you want.”

Steve is uneasy on his feet, too prideful to break eye contact but so damn nervous he’s gonna melt right into the floorboards. A low grumble rises up his throat, uncertain.

“You haven’t been on any dates lately.”

“Huh,” the brunet responds feigning surprise, “How about that.”

Steve glances back into the empty sink, restlessness spiking hot and fast up his spine. He wishes he had something to occupy his hands with, he think idly, fingertips desperate to keep busy. He could head on into the living room and grab his sketchpad, sharpen a pencil or two even if none of them are dull, but this is the first conversation they’ve had so far about whatever the hell they are, and Steve Rogers is no coward, even if he is stupid.

If he can fight men three times his size, he can stand here and have a civil conversation with the most important person in his life. He just has to swallow down his fear of God for a minute or two, just long enough for him to start making sense.

“What about you?” Steve asks, voice coming out harder than he wants, “What do you want, Buck?”

Bucky smiles easily, pushing himself off the counter. He knows the game Steve is playing.

“If I show my cards, will you finally show yours?”

Steve snorts. He hates how transparent he is. “No promises.”

Bucky takes another step forward, and Steve’s hip digs into the counter of the kitchen, caught off guard. He wills to ground his feet in place, but he can’t stop the electricity that’s slicing through his veins, the way the rushing of his blood against his ear mutes all other noise. His chest tightens like a vice, and Bucky won’t stop moving towards him.

“Know you ain’t no dame, but I’ve really been wantin’ to kiss you, Stevie.”

Steve’s heart practically lodges in his throat, shaken by how easily Bucky admits that, how there’s no fear of judgement behind those stormy grey eyes of his. Nothing but mirth and curiosity that is desperate to be fed, ready to play this dangerous game that will forever label them both as sinners. Steve hates how eager he is to comply, albeit the trembling of his shoulders that damn near knock him off his balance.

The scenes that start sparking in his head only pull Steve forward, desperate to gravitate towards the brunet.

“Been thinkin’ about it all day, when I’d get to sit you on my lap and kiss you proper for a few hours, stick my face in your hair and just hold you, breathe you in. It’s runnin’ in my head, Stevie, wondering when I can finally get my hands on ya.”

Steve’s face livens up with color, pink blossoming over his paper thin cheeks.

“And what if I don’t want that?” he tests, a filthy liar just to push Bucky’s limits. The words come out breathy, his entire bravado broken apart by the sweet images that have nestled into the forefront of his thoughts. Steve can’t help but delight in them for a moment, enlivened. God, how he’d love to indulge in that fantasy, to let go of all the guilt that’s slowly starting to dissipate away the longer he looks at Bucky’s devilish face, the longer he lets himself step closer into his space...

At the question, Bucky simply shrugs in response, eyes retaining that softness as the distance between them slowly closes.

“Then I can watch you draw and I’ll put on the radio. Sit on opposite sides of the sofa if that makes you feel better. Ain’t exactly gonna pin you down, Rogers, unless that’s what you want.”

Steve swallows thickly, his throat dry and tight.

“And...if it is?”

Bucky’s brow perks at the comment, interested.

“Then it’s your move, Rogers.”

There’s no hesitation. Steve’s damp fingers quickly grip at Bucky’s collar, pulling him down for a bruising kiss that beckons to split both their lips open. Steve reels back for a moment, the pain dizzying as he exhales a sharp groan, and Bucky laughs right in his fucking face.

“Someone’s excited?” he teases, and Steve punches him in the arm, licking the blood off from his lip.

Right as Steve’s about to spit a litany of curses Barnes’ way, Bucky leans in close and presses soft kisses across the length of Steve’s mouth, each touch so light and sweet that it quickly dissipates at the momentary anger that seized him. Steve’s suddenly blinded by the warm sunlight that is Bucky Barnes, and _oh_ , he hates it, he _hates_ it.

A warm hand snakes behind Steve’s shoulders and nestles into the dip of his waist, and he’s practically melting in place, losing all sense of autonomy the more Bucky kisses him.

There’s no point praying for forgiveness now. If it really was such a sin, kissing his fella wouldn’t feel so good.

Steve’s body slowly goes languid, the weight of Bucky’s fingers against his skin and the flush of his full, pouty lips trailing up the length of his cheekbones has suddenly filled him with a sense of pliancy.

He whines, lips thrumming for a real kiss, and Steve immediately regrets the sound he’s made, wishing he could swallow it down and take it back.

“It’s okay,” Bucky whispers without pause, lips ghosting against the shell of Steve’s ear, “You’re alright, sweetheart. You tell me when you wanna stop.”

Steve huffs, his skin warm under Bucky’s ministrations.

He doesn’t want to stop, he’ll lose his damn mind if Bucky stops.

Steve grabs at Bucky’s suspenders, pulling him from the kitchen and nudging him into the living room. The back of his knees nudge against the edge of the sofa and he goes down easily, knuckles tight as he brings Bucky down with him.

He just hopes this isn’t a sign of defeat.

It’s Bucky, he tries to tell himself, leaning in for another fevered kiss. It can’t be a sign of weakness if it’s with Bucky, _right?_

Steve oddly feels comfortable in this position -- Bucky looming over him, strong arms bracketing sickly shoulders as his fingers slowly ghost through Steve’s tousled golden hair. Blunt fingernails scratch idly at Steve’s scalp, and the smaller man can’t help but sigh, can’t stop the pleased hum that bubbles up his throat. He looks up into Bucky’s stormy grey eyes, pleased to see them blown to hell and beyond.

Steve can’t help but wonder if he looks the same.

His tongue swipes across Bucky’s bottom lip, biting down onto the skin until teeth marks are left behind, and the sharp exhale he’s given in response drives him forward, forces him to keep nibbling on that plush bottom lip and kiss it all better.

Steve can hear the brunet exhale sharply, brows knitted in concentration. Bucky’s breath comes out hot and fast, heart roaring through the creaky apartment.

He feels so powerful, underneath Bucky like this, finding new ways to make him tick and gasp, a front row seat at watching Bucky Barnes fall apart under gentle touches and hesitant kisses. He feels drunk on the sensation, intoxicated. He dives in for another taste, and Bucky meets him halfway.

Steve’s hand snakes up the length of Bucky’s arm, squeezing at his bicep and settling momentarily on his shoulder. Bony fingers carefully caress at the racing pulse on Bucky’s throat, thumb nudging against his adam’s apple until his palm nestles against the curve of the man’s strong jawline. His fingers fan out, caressing at his stubbled skin. Barnes had just shaved this morning and yet his cheek’s have already begun to prickle, the remnants of his adolescent years a distant memory the more he looks at the brunet.

Bucky nuzzles into Steve’s palm, fond.

“You kill me,” he says, voice soft, “Y’know that, Rogers? Fuckin’ kill me.”

“Ain’t even done anything.”

“Don’t gotta, lookin’ at you is enough.”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes. He kisses at the cleft on Bucky’s chin, tasting salt and sweat against his tongue. The scruff tickles at his lips, and the anxiety from earlier still nestles in his chest, sits like dead weight behind his sternum, but Bucky’s scent and touch and god his _taste_ pushes all of that away for a moment, leaves him floating on this ethereal high he never imagined reaching.

He lets curiosity push him forward, eager to see how much Bucky will take.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling him down until his full weight settles over him. Bucky’s heart rages against Steve’s sternum, each _th-thump_ sending them deeper into the cushioning, pushing them closer together until their chests press together. Steve squirms underneath him, fingers digging into his shirt as he gasps suddenly into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s hips press flush against him, his erection pressing incessantly against Steve’s thigh, warm and clearly, _definitely_ not distracting. Steve gasps, absentminded, mouth going slack against the onslaught of kisses as he looks down between them.

“Sorry --” Bucky gasps, lifting his hips away in consideration.

Steve bats his lashes, heart raging against his chest. He bites at his bottom lip, and slowly hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Bucky’s slacks. Bucky’s brows shoot up to his hairline when Steve nudges him back down. He swallows thickly, and damn near loses his mind when Steve grinds up to meet him, the breath practically punched out of him.

“This is okay?” he asks brokenly, hips still in place as Steve grinds against him. The blond simply huffs a frustrated sound, wishing Bucky would just get with the program, wouldn’t keep him waiting and just --

“ _Oh,_ ” Steve gasps, back arching off the couch as Bucky reciprocates the action, his clothed erection burning hot even through the layers separating them.

Steve’s voice rises, bringing a hand over to bite into the meat of his palm. Another roll of his hips and he’s gasping, teeth sinking into the plush skin to qualm the sounds, to silence his neediness under the onslaught of Bucky’s teasing. Bucky, the sap, leans down and kisses at the racing pulse raging on Steve’s wrist, lips ghosting over the blue veins that protrude from his delicate, pale skin. Bucky nips at it playfully, tongue ghosting over the teeth marks Steve’s left behind.

“Fuck,” Bucky sighs, “ _Fuck_ , baby…”

He shifts his weight and grinds against Steve so hard the younger man slides against the sofa, earning a delicious moan that fills Bucky with pride.

“Stevie,” he calls out, watching that gorgeous furrow of Steve’s brows as they knit together in pleasure, “Sweetheart -- can I touch you? Please, God, been achin’ for it, wanna get you in my hand, wanna touch you…”

Steve blinks wetly up him, his erection pressing incessantly against his slacks. Bucky stares down at him with such determination, glints of desperation shining through those stormy grey eyes of his. Steve’s hips twitch minutely at the suggestion, going mute.

He looks away for a moment, overwhelmed. Steve’s slender fingers curl into Bucky’s shirt, and he nods in response, goosebumps trailing up the length of his skin. “Yeah,” he finally says, gaze clouded with arousal, “Yeah, Buck, okay…”

Steve’s belt is off before he can even blink, Bucky’s fingers toying with his button and nudging at his zipper. Steve’s cheeks flare with color, a combination of embarrassment over how bird boned his hips and body are, a reflection of his biological incompetencies, yet overwhelming desire every time he looks up into Bucky’s hungry gaze, the way his fingers spread out to seek out the warmth of Steve’s skin and how he strips away each layer of clothing with such uncompromising fulfillment.

“Oh _Jesus_ ,” Bucky sighs, eyes locked on Steve’s exposed body, unashamed as he eyes up the length of Steve’s clothed erection.

“Look at you, babydoll…fuck, so gorgeous...”

He gently teases at the elastic of Steve’s briefs, runs his palm over the prominent bulge. Steve inhales sharply, and Bucky looks down at Steve through thick lashes, leaning down to trail kisses down Steve’s exposed chest and down his concave stomach.

“Can I, sweetheart?” His voice is a mere whisper, ghosting hot against Steve’s pale skin, “Lemme look, baby, wanna see you, I gotta…”

“So hurry up…” Steve grits out behind clenched teeth, wishing his voice had some semblance of authority under it. He hates how desperate his voice sounds, how strangled each moan and gasp is, but when Bucky finally tugs down his briefs, exposing his erect, throbbing cock, he can focus on little more except how piercing the cold air feels against his heated skin.

Bucky moans in tandem with Steve at the reveal, shifting his weight so his head rests comfortably against Steve’s stomach. Bucky’s so damn close that Steve can feel him breath against his shaft, each tuff and gasp excruciating as the blond unconsciously thrusts his hips upward, unable to control the urge.

“Poor baby,” Bucky cooes, tilting his head to look up at Steve behind thick lashes, thumbing at the bead of precome that’s formed against Steve’s slit, “Shouldn’t leave you waitin’, baby, I know you need it.”

“Barnes you motherfu- ah, _ah!_ ”

Steve writhes underneath, Bucky’s fist tight around his base as he presses kitten licks against the head of Steve’s cock, nudging at the underside, sweeping over the slit -- each lick so quick and dainty that it leaves Steve pushing towards insanity.

“Watch your mouth, Rogers,” Bucky reprimands from below, tonguing at the underside of Steve’s cock, “Before I tell your mother. You know she doesn’t like you talkin’ that way.”

The fiend. The fucking _fiend_. Steve brings his hand down to pull at Bucky’s hair in retaliation, pissed to hell and beyond over the fact that Barnes would mention his goddamn mother with his tongue against his dick, but when those sultry, sinful lips finally seal around Steve’s head, eager tongue pressing and exploring at his soft skin, Steve’s fingers curl around the maze of dark hair below and he exhales a shuddering gasp.

Has he done this before?

Has Bucky had someone else between his lips, feeding the same flame of desire with another fella? Oh God, Steve can’t tell if Bucky is giving great head, or if 19 years of being alone with his hand has kept him this backed up, this sensitive over someone else’s touch and attention.

Bucky sucks him down another inch, and Steve bites violently down on his bottom lip, copper pooling against his tongue as he tries to contain himself.

“Fuck,” he gasps softly, Bucky not stopping until his nose presses against the coarse hairs of Steve’s pubic bone, “ _Fuck…!_ ”

The walls are paper thin and Steve can’t hear the faucet running in Mrs. Johnson’s place yet; the last thing they need is them getting caught cause Steve can’t keep his trap shut. He wills to relax his racing heart, tries to take in a deep breath, but every swipe of Bucky’s tongue and the way he moans deeply from the base of his throat sends a litany of curses flying from Steve’s lips, unable to keep in all of the sensations that are raging through his bones.

When Bucky slides back up, a wet _pop_ against his lips once he’s finally separated from Steve’s cock, he rests his head comfortably against Steve’s stomach, watching in unwavering dedication the way his spit glides and gleams against Steve’s shaft, the way precome forms against his slit and the bright flush of Steve’s skin against his warm palm. He smiles, one of those cock-sure smirks of his that makes Steve crazy, and when Bucky twists his wrist in time for each upstroke, kisses against the hollow of Steve’s stomach and looks up at him with those tender, stormy eyes of his, Steve gasps pathetically.

“I-” Steve gasps, body trembling, desire coiling hot and bright in the pit of his stomach, “C-Can’t --” he writhes, eyes shut tight as he tries to deny himself this pleasure, to not seek out the temptation of orgasm.

“It’s okay, baby,” Bucky whispers, voice tender as he increases his pace, “C’mon, Stevie…”

He bites at his bottom lip, voice rising, and if he wasn’t so damn distracted from Barnes’ hand on his cock and the sultriness of his voice, he’d actually be concerned over how loud he was being. But when his body stiffens, muscles going tight as he spills against Bucky’s fist and his own chest, white stripes coating his flushed skin, he goes completely quiet, too overwhelmed to even muster a single sound.

“There you go,” he hears Bucky whisper, his voice sounding distant and far away, “There you go, sweet boy, _oh_ , you’re so good…”

Steve doesn’t even register Bucky moving from his previous position, hand still working over his flushed cock as he rises and kisses Steve on his bruised lips, the gesture passionate and firm. Steve curls into him, blunt fingernails digging into Barnes’ shoulders as he whines into the kiss, Bucky stroking him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Tears prickle down his cheeks, the sensation so blinding that he can't breathe, can't think. He exhales a ragged gasp, unable to stop the tremors that lace down the length of his spine.

“You’re awful…” he mutters once he’s regained part of his composure, struggling for breath, “Just...awful, Barnes.”

Bucky simply smirks in response, kissing against Steve’s red cheek, hand coming up to tease at his gross, sweat slick hair.

“You loved it.” Bucky counters, hands warm and soft as they travel up Steve’s sides, and if he wasn’t so damn ticklish, he’d kick Barnes right in his perfect teeth. They settle for a moment, Steve’s heart beat mellowing as he curls against Bucky, seeking the warmth of his skin and the comfort of his steady, calloused hands. The brunet holds him in his arms, playing with blond strands of hair as they waste the minutes away.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky calls after a long moment, voice gentle yet firm. Steve groans in response, body heavy as he blinks up at Bucky.

“What’s got you so heated lately?” The brunet asks, curious,  “Y’look like you’re gonna maul me if I move in too close sometimes.”

Steve swallows thickly at that, burying his face back into the heat of Bucky’s chest. It’s cowardly to avoid eye contact, but he wants to indulge back into the lazy comfort they were both just sharing, avoid this awkward conversation in its entirety.

“Ain’t nothin, Barnes.” he spits out, lackluster. 

Bucky’s brow twitches at that, displeased. “If you wanna call it quits, just tell me,” he says, rising slightly from his seat, not enough to unlock Steve from his arms but establishing enough distance between them to regain eye contact. “‘M serious. If this ain’t for you, you gotta --”

“Hey,” Steve says, a little anxious, “It ain’t that, Buck, I swear.” That wakes the hell out of Steve, worried that this is what Bucky’s been thinking, been _forced_ to think what with Steve never being straight with him, never giving him enough to work with. He leans in close, pressing kisses against Bucky’s brow, down the bridge of his nose and against the crest of his lip. “To hell that this ain’t for me, ain’t nothin’ ever sit with me righter than you, Barnes. Don’t go gettin’ confused.”

“So what’s been the problem?” he asks, pacified by the sweet kisses but ever the stubborn mule.

Steve exhales, shifting closer into Bucky’s space, practically crawling into his lap now that they’re sitting up. Their shirts are both undone, the taut skin beneath Bucky's shirt a mild distraction as the blond fixates on it for a moment, let's his eyes wander. He nudges up closer to him, their chests mere inches apart as his legs wrap perfectly around Bucky's waist. This takes Bucky by surprise, and if Steve was being honest, it shocks the hell out of him too, knowing how comfortable he feels with this. He distantly thinks that he should feel ashamed for it, but the feeling never registers, never flares through his sternum. 

“Just...gotta get over my own stuff, Buck. Still worried about the same old.” he admits, feeling stupid for focusing on something so old, but pleased that the pathetic answer offers some solace to his partner.

Bucky relaxes forward, hands firm on Steve’s hips as they nudge him forward.

“Y’know this is my choice, right?” Steve nods, _of course he knows that_ , “And y’know you can’t force me into anythin’, right?”

“Oh, didn’t know _that_. And here I thought you fancied pullin’ me outta fights every day.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, pinching at the delicate skin on Steve’s hip, earning him a soft gasp.

"You still gonna give us a chance?" Bucky asks, a little anxious. Steve simply scoffs in response, burying his face in the crook of his neck and kissing at his racing pulse.

"After today, ya couldn't get rid of me if you wanted, Barnes."

If he's going to hell anyways, he might as well enjoy their time together while he can.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! There is still a part 3 anticipated for this series. If you enjoyed, feel free to leave me a comment/kudos on your way out~
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://badbrooklynbitch.tumblr.com/) c: I love making new friends!!


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